


Prompt Fills

by ATaleOfTwoCaitlins



Category: Marvel (Movies), Supernatural, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATaleOfTwoCaitlins/pseuds/ATaleOfTwoCaitlins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey guys! </p><p>So, Caitlin V and I have set up a little game to keep ourselves occupied. A prompt game. Essentially, if we want something in writing rather than in imagination, we stick it in the other one's Facebook inbox and say 'Go nuts'. Let it be known, I love this game. It gets my creative juices flowing and gives me new material to work with, which inspires my ongoing stuff as well. So, we're going to shove all that stuff here. Each chapter will be a separate story, with the prompt itself (in so many words, as we are not concise people) in the summary. Warnings etc will be included where necessary. </p><p>Let us know in the comments what you think of each one, and what you'd like to see more of! We'll sign each one in the notes with who wrote it so you know who sabotaged whose favourite character, yadda yadda yadda. Enjoy, loves!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt Fills

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Person A has a huge crush on Person B, and at an 80s party, someone suggests a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven and Person A goes into the closet with Person B. Person B gets a little frisky.'
> 
> I paraphrased, but that's the gist of what we agreed. And Caitlin, in future: Unspecified pairings will 90% of the time end up as Stereks. I'm not sorry. 
> 
> I'm also not sorry that this prompt got wildly out of hand and ended up longer than expected. That happens a lot. 
> 
> ~ Cat

Derek didn’t regret having an apartment. He finally had a roof over his head that wasn’t a) the destroyed wreckage of his family home or b) the destroyed wreckage of an abandoned subway station. In fact, it was a nice, not-destroyed building in a decent enough neighbourhood, and Derek was actually comfortable there. 

Well, he was until Erica started organising theme parties. 

~

Pack meetings were always held at Derek’s, and even when there was actual business to be discussed, conversation always fell to what the theme of the next party would be.

“Don’t pull that face, Derek. Parties are fun! You could do with letting loose every once in a while.” Erica smirked, with that look on her face that always makes you think she’s up to something, because she usually is. Or that she knows more than she needs to, which she usually does. 

“Parties are fine. I’d just rather they were held elsewhere.” Derek snapped.

“No one else we know has an apartment big enough! Ok, so I’m thinking an eighties theme…”

Derek put his head in his hands. He heard Scott snort from the couch, and looked up to wrinkle his nose at him, fighting the urge to rip him to pieces.

The parties had started a few weeks after Derek moved in. It started with a fairly regular party, with drinks and music and dancing and Derek sat in the corner on the spiral staircase waiting for to to end, only ever getting up to shoo overly touchy-feely teenagers out of his bedroom. And as much as he protested, the parties continued.

Now, Derek has less of a problem with the party itself. He likes a drink, maybe a little dance. A chance to think for even a second that nothing is currently trying to kill him or his pack. But, as was a theme in Derek’s life, one thing was preventing him from concentrating on having any fun at all, and confining him to a corner to stew in his own man pain.

Stiles.

Or, more to the point, heavily intoxiacted Stiles in skinny jeans. 

Because, dayum. 

~

The Disney party was a disaster.

Erica insisted that everyone go in fancy dress, and elected herself as ‘slutty Cinderella’ seconds later.

“That’s not a thing.” Derek sighed.

“With a little bit of Disney magic, Derek,” she winked, “Anything is possible.” 

 

Derek returned to his apartment the following Saturday afternoon, sans costume, only to find Erica sat on his couch, moving her hand as though stroking an invisible cat.

“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Hale.”  
“What have you done?” he groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut.  
“Nothing. Not yet…”

Erica nudged a large bag with her foot.

“Ok, so do you want to be Lady and the Tramp- you as the tramp, obviously- or the Fox and the Hound? Although if I’m honest, I kind of got those ones with Scott and Kira in mind.”

“Erica, I’m not dressing up for your stupid party. Besides, those are for pairs.”

“Exactly. One for you, and one for Stiles.”

Derek choked.

“What about Stiles?”

“What, you think we can’t smell it on you? You like him. And he likes you, but we know you can definitely smell that. So what are you waiting for? Share some spaghetti with him already, for Christ’s sake.”

Derek scowled and stormed into his bedroom, pointedly slamming the door behind him while flashing his ‘You are impossible and I’m going away to hate you for a while’ face.

~

The party actually wasn’t that bad.

At least, not until Stiles arrived.

Derek had actually vacated his spot on the stairs and was sipping one of the wolfsbane-laced beers Scott had prepared earlier, mumbling along to Disney songs he pretended not to know the words to.

That was when Stiles slid in through the door in black skinny jeans that clung to his legs, a purple stripy long-sleeved top and cat ears. He careered over to Derek, grinning.

“And who are you this evening? Maleficent? Ursula? Scar from The Lion King?” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.  
“You’re the Cheshire Cat.” Derek deadpanned, rolling his eyes.   
“That I am, Derek. That I am. I thought it was appropriate, y’know? What with my beautiful smile and infinite knowledge and-“  
“Ability to royally irritate everyone in your path?”

Stiles tapped his nose as he walked away.

“Exactly.” He whispered.

Derek groaned and trudged over to the familiar spiral staircase, curling up on one of the steps and flopping forward, his forehead resting on his knees. This was going to be a long night. 

Derek’s night only got worse. 

He’d never seen anyone dance quite so seductively to Under The Sea before. Stiles was shaking and wiggling in time with the music, and as the song reached the line ‘darling it’s better down where it’s wetter, take it from me’, he turned to where Derek was sat and winked. Derek cursed himself, and his taste in men. 

By the time the party was over, most people had cleared out, but Scott and Kira (dressed, as Erica had said, as the Fox and the Hound) were clearing up in the kitchen, Isaac’s Simba costume was in tatters as he dragged a trash sack around dumping bottles into it, and Erica and Boyd were nowhere to be found. Derek didn’t even want to go near his bedroom for fear of what ‘Slutty Cinderella’ and her prince were up to. 

And Stiles? Stiles was asleep. Passed out cold on Derek’s sofa, his cat ears at a jaunty angle halfway off his head as he lay on his front, drooling onto the couch cushions.

“Isaac. Once you’re done with the bottles, think you could clear that up too?” Derek asked, pointing at the heap of human on his couch.

“Yeah, whatever, boss.” Isaac winked, smiling deviously.

Everyone eventually went their separate ways, Boyd and Erica re-appearing minutes later looking a little worse for wear and announcing they were tired and going home. The others followed, and Derek was finally alone, bar the snoring lump that was still asleep in the middle of the room.

Every ounce of Derek’s sense told him to wake him up and kick him out. But he just looked so peaceful…

Derek crept over and carefully pulled the throw blanket off of the back of the couch and draped it over Stiles’ shoulders. The younger man wriggled slightly before settling again with a contented sigh. Derek let a tiny smile emerge before reining it back in and shuffling away to his own bedroom, praying Stiles would be gone when he woke up. 

~

The traffic light party was by far the worst.

“Ok, so if you’re available, you wear green. If it’s complicated, you wear amber, and if you’re taken, you wear red. Simple.” Erica grinned as the rest of the pack nodded in agreement. Derek had stopped protesting to Erica’s plans after the ‘Famous Murderers’ party where Stiles had dressed up as the Joker with the excuse of ‘What? He killed people!’. Derek just couldn’t say no to things like that. 

And so, on the evening of the party, Derek was sat on his bed, shirtless, stuck in between two colours. Because honestly- what colour was he? Technically, he wasn’t with anyone. So technically he should be wearing the green shirt. But he was also crushing pretty hard on the gangly kid with no self-control, and didn’t really want anyone hitting on him if it wasn’t him. 

He pulled on the orange shirt and left the room.

~

Derek was NOT looking for Stiles. And even if he was, it wasn’t easy to find him. Through the sea of red-doused coupled walking around hand-in-hand and people dressed in green grinding and mingling, it was hard to pick anyone out of the crowd.

But there he was. Leant against the breakfast bar with a drink in his hand, his shirt just hitched up over his hip, revealing a tiny patch of pale flesh.

His orange shirt.

Derek let out a whining noise that he will deny to his grave and went to shuffle away, but unfortunately his legs were not on board with the whole ‘move away from Stiles’ plan and careered him into the kitchen doorframe instead, causing Stiles to look up from his beer bottle.

“You ok there? Little too much wolfsbane, huh? Did the little wolf have too much fun?” he giggled, sliding over and placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“You enjoy my pain too much.” Derek bit out, trying to ignore the fact that Stiles was touching him. 

“Nah, it’s just nice to see you do something so… human. Usually I only see you throwing people into walls or yelling or scowling. And all those things are usually directed towards me.” He slurred, pointing lazily at his face. 

“So yeah, maybe I like seeing you fall over. Makes you look kinda vulnerable.” Stiles was smiling wistfully, like he was thinking a lot more than he was saying, his face close to Derek’s and his voice a whisper, “It’s cute.”

Stiles, even in his more-than-a-little-tipsy state, clearly immediately thought better of it, clapping Derek awkwardly on the shoulder and walking swiftly from the room before he could see the blush that had overtaken Derek’s face. Derek cocked his head round the door, only to see Stiles marching through the living room and grabbing Scott by the collar, mouthing what looked like ‘you and me, talk. Now.’ and dragging him into the bathroom. 

Stiles thought he was cute. Stiles thought he was cute. And Stiles had worn an orange shirt even though Derek knew he wasn’t seeing anyone. 

Derek turned back around; slamming his head against the kitchen wall and feeling the plaster crumble against his skull. 

~

The 80s night was the final straw. 

This time, Erica had insisted Derek join in. 

“I know for a fact that Stiles is wearing those tight acid-wash jeans he bought a year ago we told him he’d never wear, just to prove a point. You have to wear something good. This is your chance, Derek.” She encouraged.

“Fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah you will.”

Derek eventually decided on his tightest jeans, (grey acid wash, because who the hell wears blue?) and a ‘Frankie Says Relax’ shirt he stole off of Scott. He’s still not sure why Scott had it in the first place, but he wasn’t one to ask questions about the stuff he was ‘temporarily misappropriating’. 

The room was a sight to behold.

Neon streamers were strung up in every corner, and bright flashes of orange, yellow and green adorned every surface. And most of the guests, for that matter. Some of the costumes were a little more… adventurous than others- some people, like Derek, had opted for the scaled down approach. And then there was Scott, who came dressed as MC Hammer. Enough said.

Erica and Lydia had both curled their hair to quite an alarming volume and were sporting matching hoop earrings and giant hair bows that matched their puffy neon skirts. The only difference was that Lydia had teamed her look with a pink cardigan- clearly because she didn’t possess the extreme heat capabilities the werewolves had. They both looked like they’d just walked out of a Duran Duran video. Derek told them as much.

“And you look like you need a drink. We’re playing seven minutes in heaven and I want you good and loose.” Lydia smiled devilishly, and Derek immediately knew that Erica had told her everything. He should have expected this and more from the pair of them. Together they were a dangerous combination. 

Derek rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged over to where all the pack members and a few strangers were gathered in the living area, and let Lydia place a glass of wolfsbane-laced-god-knows-what in his hand. He cautiously took a sip, and seeing as it didn’t taste like it was going to kill him, he relaxed a little. 

Until a gangly bundle of limbs settled down next to him, clanking their knees together and fidgeting. Derek tensed, looking straight ahead and concentrating on Lydia’s voice explaining the game.

“You draw names out of the hat. Whoever you get, you go into the closet with for seven minutes. You can spend those seven minutes however you like. What happens in the closet stays in the closet.” She looked up ironically at Derek as she said it, showing him that the phrasing was obviously very deliberate. 

“The ground rules are that you must clean up any mess you make, you must stay in the closet for the whole seven minutes and you can’t switch partners. Everybody good?”

The rest of the group all nodded, and Lydia went first. She pulled out Boyd, only to see Erica’s eyes flash golden as she did. She patted Erica’s shoulder as she led the way into the closet, and seven minutes later emerged looking triumphant with Boyd following a few minutes later looked absolutely terrified.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Erica whispered.  
“I just… gave him a little hint of what will happen to him if he ever hurts you.” she beamed, looping and arm around Erica and giving her a squeeze. 

“Scott, your turn.”

Scott shuffled forward and reached into the hat, fishing through the names.

“Stiles.” He said aloud, smirking.

Scott grabbed hold of Stiles’ arm, and damn Derek if he didn’t think Stiles looked a little disappointed.

When they exited the closet, Stiles looked a little happier, and Scott took his face in both his hands and kissed his forehead, giving his token Scott McCall ‘everything is going to be alright’ puppy dog smile.

Derek couldn’t help but look at Lydia and Erica as Stiles plonked back down next to him, expecting to see them looking panicked, as their plans had been foiled. But they shared a look between them that said they had planned for this very eventuality. 

“Stiles, you’re next.” Lydia announced. Stiles reached for the hat, but Lydia snatched it away. “You’re a little far away there Stiles, wouldn’t want you knocking it over. Let me get that for you.”

As Lydia fished around in the hat, Derek swore he saw her slip a piece of paper out of her sleeve and into her palm. So maybe the cardigan wasn’t because of the cold after all, he thought as the held the piece of paper up to the crowd.

“Derek.”

He looked over at Stiles, who was flushed red.

“Lydia, I know you said we can’t switch partners, but I genuinely fear for my safety right now. And yours.” Stiles said, widening his eyes.

“No takes-backsies, Stiles,” she said, almost laughing, “You know the rules.”

Derek led the way into the closet, holding the door open for Stiles. He had barely shut the door behind him and turned around properly before Stiles’ mouth was on his.

He stood frozen for a second until Stiles pulled away, holding Derek’s face with both hands. 

“We’ve only got seven minutes. Move.”

Derek didn’t think twice.

He lunged forward, trapping Stiles’ bottom lip between his own and nipping it slightly. He traced his hands down Stiles’ sides and round to grab at the butt of his criminally tight acid wash jeans, eliciting a moan from the younger man.

“No no, we do not have long enough for you to go there.” Stiles insisted, panting.

“Next time?” Derek smirked, his voice playful in a way that made Stiles want to both hear more of it and shut him up with his mouth.

“Definitely next time.”

They kissed messily, hands roaming and trying to find different ways to make the other one groan. When Derek’s hand ghosted over one of Stiles’ nipples, he thought the teen might actually pass out, if the noise he made and the way his eyes rolled back in his head were anything to go by. 

When the telltale sound of the timer buzzed through the door, Derek had his hand halfway down Stiles’ jeans, and Stiles was sucking a hickey into Derek’s collarbone.

“We are doing this again. Very soon.” Stiles breathed.

“Yeah. Soon.” Derek agreed, swinging the door open and stepping outside.

The entire room burst into laughter, with people handing bank notes to each other, some grinning and some cursing as they swapped bills.

“We all had bets on what state you’d come out in. Scott betted on you both going a little further than you did…” Lydia said, watching as a red flush made its way across both of the pair in question. 

Stiles took that opportunity to throw both his arms around Derek’s neck and kiss him, hard, causing everyone to go silent and stare.

He pulled away seconds later, taking a moment to really take in the look of shock on Derek’s face before he did a mock bow, announced that the party was over and led Derek into the bedroom, the sound of ‘Friday I’m In Love’ by The Cure the only audible sound in the stunned silence.

Derek never complained about Erica throwing parties after that. 

~


End file.
